Tuesday, April 13, 2010

the secret to my awp success

Since I shared this with 10 or so people at the conference, technically it's no longer a secret, but . . .

when I'm at AWP, I pretend I'm in a sci-fi movie. That way, pretty much nothing bothers me. When crazy shit happens, I say, well of course, the plot has been building up to this the whole time. When some man poet is lecherous, I say, yep, he's a regular Jabba the Hut. Then I imagine strangling him with his own chains.

My last Denver dream was this:

In a classroom, a bald man behaves strangely. I go to a desk outside the room and try to call campus security. I can't get through. I yell that we need an ambulance. Nobody seems particularly concerned. I notice that a reptilian alien is living in and peeking out of the man's skull. I don't let the man near me because I don't want to catch his reptilian-alien cooties. I see my father, he has the cooties too. I stay away. Then I notice the butterflies, they're spreading the aliens to everyone, soon everybody in the entire world will be taken over.

There's some business about me getting my hair done and my dismay that people are going about their business as normal, posting dorky FB status updates, etc.

Some women and I decide to make our last stand at my family's old cabin, the Chalet Ice and Deer in Seven Springs. I set up a lamp with a metal shiv to brain an alien. I tidy up, clear plastic cups off a coffee table, try to make the place a little more presentable and livable. Some women are going through the numerous kitchen utensils. Aside from the death lamp, it doesn't really feel like we're prepping for a fight.

Alien Overlords, I think I'm almost ready to concede and receive my braining.